


can't take that away from me

by tyongluvinf



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Coping, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentioned Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Mentioned Lee Jeno, Mentioned Mark Lee, Vietnam War Era, eventually hurt/comfort i guess?, it's pretty sad, renjun's terrified of forgetting jaem, soldier jaemin, there's a Singular fluff scene, yeah just a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28135206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyongluvinf/pseuds/tyongluvinf
Summary: so many questions unanswered -jaemin, are your hands calloused now?jaemin, did you ever get to play the piano one last time?jaemin, what if I forget you?jaemin, how will you forgive me?
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	can't take that away from me

good songs to listen to when u listen to this

  * these foolish things (remind me of you) - ella fitzgerald
  * stars fell on alabama - ella fitzgerald
  * they can't take that away from me - ella fitzgerald
  * we'll meet again - the ink spots
  * i'll be seeing you - billie holiday



the paragraphs in italics are flashbacks!

+++  
  


Renjun sat in the dark theatre, his knee bouncing incessantly, as if he needed a reminder to stay aware. In a flash of light, in all his black-and-white glory, he came onto the screen. A bright grin adorned his face, just as he appeared in the photo albums littering the floor of Renjun’s living room. An arm thrown around the shoulders of a man Renjun now knew to be named Jeno, Jaemin held up an envelope with familiar handwriting.  _ “This here’s from my love waiting back home.” _ Jaemin's broad smile took on an impish aspect. _ “D’you think he misses me?” _ The two waved at the camera, their eyes turning to crescent moons. Renjun's heart soared. _Jaemin, you look beautiful. Jaemin, of course I miss you._

A breath caught in his chest as the screen cut from the lively scene of the two boys to sudden violence; planes flying overhead, smoke in the air, movement in the trenches. The screen cut to black, the intertitle showing the soldiers' fate that Renjun was already painfully aware of. He went up to the booth of the movie theatre, begging the teenage worker to lend him a copy of the footage shown that day. He clutched the tape to his sweater, tucked inside his coat as if it were Jaemin himself in the film, unprotected from the cold. 

Renjun and Jaemin’s home was a disaster zone, heaps of clothes he refused to let lose their scent, pictures he was desperate to keep in mint condition, letters with a Vietnamese return address he’d received over the past two years piled on the coffee table. He avoided mirrors, unwilling to acknowledge the weeks of guilt, shame, grief that collected under his eyes. Years’ worth of unspilled tears he knows will fill his eyes when he sees that he’s no longer the beautiful boy Jaemin knew him for. He stowed away the Ella Fitzgerald records that Jaemin had begged him to buy, knowing there’d be nobody to sway him away from the world, no broad chest for his head to rest on. His heart, his bones, his mind ached for the presence of a man buried in an unnamed grave in southern Vietnam. 

But most of all, Renjun avoided their room. There sat the remnants of Jaemin’s belongings from base as well as the final letter he’d sent. If he didn’t sleep in bed, he wouldn’t turn to the right side of the bed. Maybe if he avoided the worn mattress he could make it through a night without waking up in a cold sweat, clutching his pillow. If he pretended hard enough, perhaps this was just the same level of loss he’d felt when Jaemin had to leave for a month when they were seventeen, young and in love.

_ It was the first Friday of the summer following the boys' senior year and they lied in Donghyuck's backyard. Jaemin linked his pinkie with Renjun's as they stared at the stars. The next day, Jaemin's aunt would take him upstate, away from the hot and flat terrain of suburban Chicago. Away from Renjun. "It'll be fine," Jaemin reassured the boy earlier that week, thumbing at his downtrodden expression. "We've got all the time in the world to be together. I'll buy you gifts and write letters every night." Lifting his eyes to the taller boy's face adorned with a small hopeful smile, Renjun couldn't help but give in. Now with only hours left together under the moonlight, Mark and Donghyuck sitting together on the patio, and Jaemin's thumb stroking his cheek, he couldn't help but feel a pit form in his stomach. Sensing the discomfort settling within the small boy, Jaemin tipped Renjun's face toward his. "Stop thinking." _

_ "I can't help it," Renjun leaned into the touch, reaching a hand to run through the other's dark hair. The bright moonlight illuminated his face, Renjun wished he could make the image of the beautiful boy last forever. "I'm just gonna miss you. A whole month?" _

_ Jaemin smiled sadly, shifting and pulling Renjun closer. "I'll be home soon enough. Like I said, I'll write you and take pictures. I'll be back as soon as you know it. Then we can do anything you'd like." The tips of his ears reddened at the implication, a sly grin flashing momentarily. Renjun huffed and rolled away playfully, giggling. "That's not what I meant!" Jaemin laughed softly and rolled over Renjun, his arms braced on either side of his shoulders. "I meant we could go for walks in the park-" he kissed the boy softly on the forehead. "- take a trip to the city, -" his right cheek. "- watch the sunset over the lake, -" kissing his left. "Anything. So long as we're together." His lips lingered on Renjun's, savoring the few extra moments where the rest of the world felt miles away. "Like I said," Jaemin breathed out, laying himself back on the grass, pressed against Renjun's side. "We've got all the time in the world." Two months later, they moved in together. Almost an exact year later, Jaemin's draft letter came. _

Heart in his throat, Renjun turned in towards the couch, the absence of arms around his waist growing more noticeable as each night without him came. The dreaded morning came, lifting his head up with a glance toward the kitchen. He opened his mouth to note the lack of the scent of coffee, only to remember he was the only one in his home. That was another thing about loss nobody taught him; not his devout Christian mother, who revered death as a blessing in itself, not his neighbor, who lost her husband in the war thirty years before. 

It stuck out like a sore thumb. It was painfully obvious, the absence left behind. Silence found its home in the still-fresh indent on the couch, the empty seat to Renjun’s right when he still accidentally bought two tickets at the cinema, the long-expired grounds sitting in the coffee machine on the counter. Their piano sat untouched, a film of dust coating the keys and sheets of music sitting on the top. 

_ Renjun was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Jaemin left the next day, and they’d spent the day basking in quiet, behind forced laughs and pained smiles. The preemptive monster of loss clawed at his throat all day, finally unleashing its wrath as soft notes resonated through the house.  _ “We’ll meet again,” _ Jaemin’s voice rasped.  _ “Don’t know where, don’t know when.” _ Renjun drew in a breath, feeling the weight on his chest compress. The ceiling stretched miles above him, his limbs unmoving as Jaemin played on.  _ “Won’t you please say hello, to the folks that I know, tell them I won’t -”  _ The piano paused, a muffled sob. Renjun wanted to scream.  _ Jaemin, don’t go. Jaemin, what could I tell them? Jaemin, what if something happens?  _ He felt trapped, heart pounding against the confines of his chest. His throat burned despite the silence. Tears silently fell down the side of his face, pooling at his temples. The door opened, soft steps cutting through the white noise of Renjun’s mind. Jaemin climbed into bed, pulling the smaller man onto his chest, thumbs rubbing at his tear-stained face, neglecting his own.  _ “I know we’ll meet again some sunny day,”  _ Jaemin whispered into Renjun’s hair between kisses to the top of his head. The two didn’t speak, their unspoken words falling away as they clung to each other and fell into a slumber riddled with ragged breath and cold sweat. That was the last night Renjun spent in their bedroom. _

Maybe discovering the depth of loss was supposed to be something one has to learn on his own. Yet, Renjun couldn’t help but try to blame anyone and everyone for not warning him of this when he’d lost Jaemin the first time around, the promise of return was fresh on their lips, horrors of warfare unknown to Jaemin’s bright eyes.

Later, Donghyuck came over, emitting a silent sigh, scanning Renjun’s home in disarray. He tiptoed around the room, crouching in front of the short boy on the couch after setting a warm dish on the empty dining table. “From Mark,” he added. “Please, Renjun. Eat. Nobody wants you to torture yourself like this. Not Jaemin.” 

Times like this reminded Renjun that Jaemin was real to others, too. He wasn’t just Renjun’s person. He was Mark and Donghyuck’s closest friend, a former employee, a former student. There were more people than just Renjun who still remembered to leave a space for him in pictures, who still set an extra plate at dinner, who thought to invite the couple out until the realization hit them moments later. He pulled himself up and sat at the table, shoveling the food into his mouth, not registering the taste. He gave Hyuck a small smile, which was returned almost immediately. He was pulled into a sudden hug, a reassuring squeeze. “He’d want you to live, y’know,” Donghyuck mumbled into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I miss him so much, and I know you miss him more. But I’m starting to grieve for more than just Jaemin. I don’t wanna lose both of my best friends.” With that, he stepped back and pulled on his jacket. “I love you, Jun,” He smiled warmly, ruffling hair that hadn’t been washed in days. 

The front door shut and Renjun sat still in his seat, staring at the blank wall.  _ He’d want you to live, y’know? _ He knew. Of course he knew, but wasn’t that selfish? What kind of person can just keep going, knowing the person meant to take on life next to them couldn’t? Who was he to continue life; to let himself forget? He stood, shaky steps carrying him toward the bedroom door.  _ Jaemin, how can I live? Jaemin, why am I alone now?  _ His hand turned the knob, the door softly cracked.

Faint scent of cotton and old cologne filled Renjun’s head as he took the first step in. He knelt next to the bed, his hands shaking incessantly. He fumbled with the zipper on the backpack that lay on Jaemin’s side of the bed, pulling out the dirty white tees, a pair of pants, socks, and boots. He paused as he reached the bottom of the bag. Two pens, a watch he recognized as an anniversary gift from months before he left, and a journal littered the floor as he dumped it out. He clutched a shirt to his face, desperate to feel Jaemin, to imagine how he must’ve felt after battles. So many questions unanswered -  _ Jaemin, are your hands calloused now? Jaemin, did you ever get to play the piano one last time? Jaemin, what if I forget you? Jaemin, how will you forgive me?  _ He felt tears burning the back of his eyes, his chest tightening. He squeezed his eyes shut and stood to walk out of the room, leaving the envelope untouched. Suddenly, his hand caught on the corner of a bin from under their bed. It was Jaemin’s vinyls, his most prized possessions.  _ He’d want you to live. _ He sat back down, placing his and Jaemin’s favorite on the turntable subconsciously. 

Closing his eyes and swaying to the piano, he softly sang. He remembered the way Jaemin’s hum would reverberate through his chest, the way he’d bend to kiss the top of Renjun’s head.  _ “The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea,”  _ Jaemin would croon, clutching the shorter boy’s body to his, taking tentative steps back and forth. Renjun’s breath shook as he tried to recreate it.  _ Jaemin, I can’t remember the way your nose slopes anymore.  _ Renjun slowly peeled open the envelope, pulling out the thin lined paper. A metal dog tag tumbled out of the letter, which Renjun quickly snatched and held to his chest tightly, afraid it’d turn to dust. He traced the carved metal, his lover’s name and birthday. He looked at the date, then glanced at the calendar on the wall.  _ Jaemin, your birthday is in three weeks. You should be twenty. I forgot. I’m forgetting. _ The tears he’d tried so hard to hold back for these past weeks finally spilled over. The young man felt like a child, sobs wracking his body, a single name escaping his lips when his breaths didn’t hinder him. He read the letter, rocking back and forth, stubby fingers tracing the smudged pencil scratches. 

In the days following, Renjun uncovered the mirrors and put back up the pictures of him and Jaemin, even framed a few more. His smile lived behind Renjun’s eyelids, his laugh immortalized in the tape he’d begged for months ago. Renjun hosted dinners, he did the laundry - except for Jaemin’s tee shirts - he slept on the left side of the bed again. Some mornings, he would still wake up with a question dying on his tongue. He would still pat the empty space to his right in a panic, expectant of Jaemin’s warm body waking up next to him, leaving Renjun frozen in grief for hours at a time. More frequently, he would wake, finding solace in the photos of him and Jaemin, immortalized in frames sitting atop the piano, moving himself to Billie Holiday’s warm voice, making coffee just for the sake of being able to smell it as he drank his tea, smiling as the morning sun shone through the windows. No matter the day, no matter where he turned, Jaemin was there. He was living. He was living for love, albeit lost. But for Renjun, it was all he knew. 

  
  


_ Renjun -  _

_ Hi, my love. I suppose the bosses expect this letter to be filled with one last big confession of love, reassurance that you'll be okay without me.  _

_ Call me selfish, but I don't think I'm able to do that last one. _

_ Goodness, you were always better with the flowery words, weren’t you? That’s what I probably think the most about here - when I’m in drills, when I’m lying alone at night, it’s your words. Even the incoherent ‘ _ I love you’ _ s, the secretive giggles, the endless rambling about the meaning of life in the middle of the night as we stared at the ceiling. Especially those. It wasn't the profound declarations, though we've had plenty of those too. There's so few words that can really describe how I've felt about you our entire lives.  _

_ I'll forever be thankful for the memories. And sorry we didn't get to make more. _

_ I’m sorry we didn’t get to do all those things I’d talked about before. I’m sorry I don’t get to take you to the city, I’m sorry we don’t get to spend New Year's in Times Square, I’m sorry we don’t get to kiss at the Eiffel Tower.  _

_ If I weren't so selfish, maybe I could tell you to find someone else to go there with. _

_ I’ll never be sorry for loving you, and maybe that’s the most selfish thing about all this; selfish of me to leave you behind and alone with our things and our plans and our thoughts. As I write that, I know it’s selfish. But I know I wouldn’t trade this life, no matter how short, for any other. As long as I spent it living for you. We’ll meet again, some sunny day. I’ll be waiting. _

_ Keep living, my love. Forever yours, Jaemin Na _

**Author's Note:**

> yiiiiikes. i hope you liked this! this is the first thing i've written in years, and i think it turned out pretty okay. sorry it's so damn heavy, defo a projection piece. pls leave comments n kudos if u made it this far !!


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